


one year since i've seen the mountains

by be_themoon



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/pseuds/be_themoon
Summary: Gods have long memories and are not bound by worlds.





	one year since i've seen the mountains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).

The Wood between the Worlds is as quiet as anything. 

It’s not the quiet of church. That always comes with its attendant rustlings of clothing, the soft murmurs of parents to their restless children, a dozen small mundane reminders of humanity. Here the only noise is that Lucy and Edmund have brought with them, and even their footfalls and hushed whispers seem muffled somehow. The only thing here that seems to make its presence known is the trees, growing ever onwards. 

“Edmund.” He turns and looks back to see Lucy already some five pools away, still crouching by the one they had come through as she set up a marker, looking reprovingly towards him. 

“Sorry Lu. Don’t know where I was going.” Lucy gets up and brushes her hands off against each other as she makes her way towards him, glancing at each pool as she passes it. 

“It feels like it would be a little too easy to get lost in here,” she says, and he takes her hand as she holds it out. “Now, how on earth do we pick one?”

“Well, there’s always the classic. Close your eyes, spin in a circle, and point.” It’s a little dry, but sincere all the same. Lucy laughs at him, tugs her hand away and spins in a circle, one hand clasped over her eyes and the other outstretched. When she stops she’s giggling, a little unsteady on her feet, and there’s no hesitation from either of them as they pull out the green rings. 

+

Even several years past the defeat of the Witch, the woods in Narnia still have a feeling of rebirth, their limbs always stretching towards the sky in ever renewing gratitude to their freedom from the snow. Tonight there are vines climbing up them, growing unnaturally fast, grapes beginning to sprout from between the leaves. It’s a tell tale signal, and Edmund glances back behind him to raise an eyebrow at Bacchus. 

“You’re late to the celebration.”

“A god has many places to be,” Bacchus says, eyes half lidded with wine and dark as the night around them. He moves with a grace that Edmund has always hoped to master but never quite achieved, slinking his way around to rest his hands on Edmund’s shoulders and lean in to whisper against his ear. “I do not belong only to Narnia.”

“I would never dare dream of saying you belonged to anything.” There’s a shiver in Edmund’s spine, familiar as the vines and the taste of wine on Bacchus’ lips by now. He stays still for the moment though, lets his breath out slowly. 

“That, dear King, is why you are among my favorites.” Bacchus’ fingers trail up and down Edmund’s arm and his lips are warm against his neck. “But I did come, after all, did I not?”

“And when there’s no one else around.” It’s hardly more than a whisper in the thick warm air of a summer’s night. Bacchus laughs, deep and rich, and out of nowhere a crown of leaves appears in his hand as he circles forwards to face Edmund and places it gently on his head. 

“Happy birthday, King in the Woods,” he says, and when he leans in Edmund leans towards him in turn, hands curling into dark hair in the night. 

+

This world is bright and wild, young in a way Edmund has not seen since the first spring in Narnia. The streams seem clearer, the trees a bright pale green that flutters in the wind like a song. They have yet to see anyone else, three days into their journey across it. The rations in their packs have barely needed to be touched yet though. Everywhere they turn there are berries and mushrooms and fruits, and they seem more filling than they have any right to be. 

“I wonder who built this place,” Edmund says, munching on an apple as he sprawls on the bank of a river. “It feels like we only just missed its creation.” Lucy looks up from where she’s knee deep in the river, a smooth rock in her hand. 

“I almost feel like we shouldn’t be here at all,” she admits, turning the rock over in her hand. “Everything is so fresh and new. I feel as if we’re disturbing somewhere that’s only just learning how to be.”

“I know what you mean.” He sits up, taking a last bite of the apple and regarding the core. “I hate to leave anything behind here. Feels like littering.”

“Perhaps it will be a new tree soon.” Lucy splashes water up into her face and then walks up onto the bank, wringing water out of her skirt as she goes. “In a place like this I suspect it will only be a few days before there’s a new sapling.” 

“True enough.” He stands and stretches as well, looks towards the distant mountains. “Perhaps if we follow the river we’ll find someone eventually.” 

“Perhaps next time we’ll be able to convince Peter and Susan to leave their stodgy jobs and come along with us,” Lucy says with a laugh, though she doesn’t look as if she believes it. 

“They don’t have your adventuring heart, sister.” Edmund links arms with her, drops the apple core into the small hole he’s dug and scuffs some dirt over it. “We’ll come back this way before we leave and see if you’re right about the tree.”

+

“You’ve grown tall, King in the woods.” Bacchus’ voice is unexpected, and Edmund turns from the window with surprise, his hand falling to his dagger for a moment before he realizes who it is lounging in his bed, the ever present vines somehow clambering their way up the posts of his bed. 

“It’s been a few years since I last saw you,” Edmund points out, but he makes no move to go to the bed. 

“You know I have my business elsewhere.” Bacchus frowns a little, pushes up on his elbows from where he’d been reclining in the bed. “You’re troubled.”

Edmund forces a smile, lifts a hand. “It’s been a short war, but a long week.” Under his tunic his ribs ache, the bandages doing only so much to hold everything together. He leans back against the window sill a little, stubborn. Bacchus isn’t his keeper any more than he is Bacchus’, and the timing of this return is not one he wishes to indulge. 

“War is never short enough.” Bacchus moves out of bed and to Edmund’s side so suddenly it almost doesn’t seem to have happened, and Edmund curls his hands into the window sill and looks over his shoulder into the corner as the god lifts the tunic. There’s a sympathetic noise, and then Bacchus’ hands are on his face, tilting his gaze to meet his. 

“It’ll be healed in a week,” Edmund says, trying to remain distant. 

“The body will be, but will the spirit?” Bacchus tilts his head. “It looks like you came close to death, Edmund.”

“It’s hardly the first time. And it won’t be the last.” He smiles, a little wan but effort in it. “We mortals don’t have the luxury of time as you do.”

“You’re angry with me.”

“Not with you,” Edmund corrects. “I’m angry with -- a great deal. I’m angry I almost failed my country. I’m angry - I’m angry I almost failed my siblings. If Lucy hadn’t been near.” He stops himself, knuckles whitening. “And I suppose I’m a little angry you don’t have to worry yourself about any of that, or how long someone is waiting to see you again, or the passage of time at all. I don’t need you here, but knowing that it is inconsequential to you.”

Bacchus tugs the tunic back down and then lays his hands over Edmund’s, gently uncurling them from the window sill. Edmund doesn’t resist, and after a long moment Bacchus starts to lead him to bed. 

“Rest, King. I will be here when you awaken this time.” 

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Edmund scowls, snatches his hands away. “I don’t need you to coddle me, Bacchus. We have what we have, but it’s not meant to be -- this.”

“And it isn’t. But for today and tomorrow, for a moment, it can be what it needs to be to bring you comfort.” Bacchus holds up a hand, a goblet appearing out of nowhere in it. “I am not your consort, King, and we are not eternal, but that does not make my caring for you less real.” 

There’s a long pause, assessing and solemn, and then Edmund takes the goblet and sits down on the side of the bed. 

“I feel like a child, now.” Bacchus laughs at him, because of course he does, and somehow that’s comforting after all. Edmund takes a long drink from it and then places it on his bedside table and leans back against the pillows. Bacchus leans in and kisses his forehead and then his lips before leaning back in bed next to him, a goblet for himself appearing in his hand. 

“Luckily you have an excellent library here,” Bacchus says teasingly, picking up the book Edmund had been reading from the night stand, and Edmund sighs out and rolls his eyes as he settles in. 

He almost says ‘I’m glad you’re here’, but this is enough, for the moment. There’s no need to say it out loud.

+

On the bright mid afternoon of the fifth day they come to a crossing in the river, and in the center of it an island with a grove in the middle of it. There are vines growing everywhere, out of the ground itself and covering the trees, and Edmund laughs out loud before he even realizes he is. 

“Oh, well, that does make sense,” Lucy says, her smile wide and beaming, but she glances at the river and at Edmund and then gestures him onwards. “I don’t think I’ll make the crossing right now, perhaps it will be easier later.”

It’s a cop out, and he shoots her a look that makes it clear he knows that, but she just laughs and shoves him towards the river as he shucks his shoes off. 

The crossing isn’t that difficult, though his pants are soaked by the time he makes his wa into the center of the grove. 

“You’re late, King in the woods,” Bacchus says with a slow smile, lounging in the middle of the grove on grass so soft and fine Edmund knows it will be more comfortable than any bed. 

“I’m late? For someone who can move across worlds, I certainly haven’t seen you since I left Narnia.”

Bacchus shrugs, an elegant gesture, and pats the ground beside him. 

“I’ve been very occupied. Besides, I’ve never liked London. All gray and steel and buildings. Nowhere that a god like me should be.”

“This does seem more your area.” Edmund moves forwards, smiling despite himself, and sprawls across the ground, leaning his head back against Bacchus’ stomach. “You wouldn’t happen to have had a hand in such a beautiful new place, would you?”

“I wouldn’t call it new, exactly. It’s been a few years by your standards, I suppose? But I haven’t found much reason to bring others in yet.”

“Oh, certainly. It must entirely be coincidence that Lucy and I have stumbled upon this world. All those hundreds of pools, and somehow it was this one we jumped into.”

“This time. I have been being very patient on your adventures, you know.”

“Very patient and very absent, you mean.”

Bacchus laughs, the feeling of it reverberating in his stomach against Edmund’s head, and his hand rests against Edmund’s thigh. 

“Everyone should have their time and their adventures. But I did hope eventually, sooner or later, you would wind up here, where all things are young and will remain that way for as long as they choose.”

Edmund’s heart skips a beat for a moment.

“Bacchus.”

“Edmund.” 

“That cannot be possible.”

Bacchus sits up, abruptly, looking down at Edmund with all seriousness. 

“All that I want to be possible is possible here. For you, and for any of your siblings who would ask for it. You needn’t stay forever, of course, but perhaps. For a time. There is a great deal to be done and built and discovered. I know only a fraction of it myself, yet.”

Edmund opens his mouth, slowly, and then closes it again. The moment hangs in the air, and then Bacchus leans down and presses his lips to Edmund’s for a brief vanishing time. 

“The offer is here, for all time that you have. Now I should greet your sister.” 

He rises to go, Edmund forced to shift. 

“Bacchus.” The god turns to look at him, and Edmund raises a hand and closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again to find a crown of leaves in his hand. Slowly he lifts it onto his head, his smile widening. “It is a beautiful land.”

The gods’ smile is so bright it could fuel the sun.

“I do believe it is.”


End file.
